An update, my fellow friends:

The symptoms of my fate seem to have started. My skin is beginning to flake; it feels like a bar of soap, and I'm sweating some orange, oily liquid. It's staining my keyboard and smells fucking horrible... But—I seem to be typing words, and they appear in my word document. So, as I promised, since I'm still here, correctly, let's continue.

After my chat with Professor Weber, I read his notes and was astonished. Not with thrill or excitement, but of disappointment and concern. I couldn't believe what I was reading. Some alien organism disguised as a book? That's beyond impossible. Every time I questioned what I was reading, Professor Weber always responded with, "You'll believe me if you join the project."

I had to call him out of on this bluff. Know the truth. They had to be either crazy, frauds, or a cult. Only one of the three was correct, of course. The obvious answer. Scariest. Deadliest.

Not that crazies or frauds aren't either of those adjectives but come in contact a cult like this one and you'll know what I mean. So, I signed the contract and was due to start at nine in the evening.

Yes, I chose to join the project.

Before my departure, I forgot one, small detail. I forgot to tell James. Was preoccupied with my curiosity. That's—how I am. And that's how you shouldn't be.

So, as I sat on my couch, eating my last slice of cold pizza, minutes before my departure, I gave him a call. Just in case something did happen to me—I needed him to know who did it.

The phone rang four times. I looked out my apartment window. The sun was setting a beautiful twilight. I checked my watch. I have time. It rang twice more, and then—click. I took a deep breath.

I hate people, I thought. Then, not now.

"Hello?" I mumbled as I muted the television (some amber alert was going on for several children or something. Can't remember) and took a bite of pizza.

"Hey! You're alive, man!" James's voice blared into my ear, I held the phone back, dialing down the sound a few notches.

"Yeah? How are you and the girls?"

"They're all fine."

"Oh? has Elise and Sarah been alright?" I asked.

"Yeah, Sarah's turning six in a couple of months. You coming over for the birthday?"

"Uh yeah? I wouldn't miss either of their birthdays for the world!"

"Good! I'll tell her that her prince is invited," he laughed. "Actually, we were just talking about you. We want you over again sometime soon. It's been weeks."

"Did she? Maybe I'll visit when I'm not busy."

"You're always busy!" He teased.

I heard another voice on the speaker. Sounded familiar. Sounded like Bridget. "Is that him? How's our fellow friend?! Tell him I'll pay him seventy-four dollars towards his dollar dance if he comes over this weekend. Oh also tell him Allie is single and she's interested in visiting too!"

"She says—."

"I heard her. You guys won't drop that will you, huh? Are they having her work tonight?"

"Yeah, more overtime. Fun right? She's leaving in a couple of hours".

"She's supposed to be off on Fridays. That's bullshit! The hospital needs to hire more people for the night shift." A loud bang came from the direction of my window, towards the park across the street. A feeling of dread crept and left with a chill that ran down my spine. I stared at the window, then thought I heard a scream. Sounded like a scream of a—.

"Language Liam."

"A-am I on speaker?" I stuttered, collecting my thoughts. Everything felt normal once again. Or at least what you could consider normal for an unaware, stupid, shit of a psychologist.

"No."

"Well, I don't fucking care then. The kids can't hear me." I stood up and peeked out the window, at the park. It was empty. No one was on the swings, the playground, or the see-saw. Empty. "They keep having her work fifty hour weeks, threatening to fire her if she cuts back. She needs to report this bullshit."

"She says they're working on hiring more people."

"They told her that? Oh, that's great! They've never told her that one before," I replied, sarcastically. He laughed. I miss that laugh. That energy. That time.

"C'mon. It's not that bad. She actually has Sunday and most of next week off. You should join us for dinner this weekend." Bridget said something. I think it was an excited response. I checked my watch once more. I still have time; I need to tell him.

"I wish I could, but—," I paused. "James, I need to talk to you about how the other day went."

"What's up? Wait. Did you—," he paused. Probably to make sure Bridget couldn't hear. "Did you meet the guy?"

"I did."

"Why didn't you call me sooner?" he asked. I sighed in response, glancing at the papers on my coffee table. He sighed as well. "Well—how did it go?"

"The program checks out. Same with the professor."

"What?" His voice sounded so stern.

"Apparently Lexi was let go weeks before her disappearance." I waited for his typical 'I already knew that' response, but he said nothing. The sound of feet shuffling and heavy breathing came from the speakers. A door opened and then closed.

I looked at the phone, making sure I was still on. "Are you still there?"

"I am," he exhaled, pausing once more. "He must be lying," he whispered, his voice faintly echoing. Probably hiding in the bathroom.

"Well, Professor Weber said the police checked them out. Yesterday, I called one of my associates, and she confirmed that they did".

"Those fu-." I heard him hit the wall. "They're lying."

I didn't respond.

He let out a long breath. Bridget spoke to him behind the door. "Yeah, everything is alright sweetheart. Just stubbed my toe," he responded. I waited as they exchanged words until I could assume she left. "Sorry about that. What else did you learn?"

"Quite a lot, actually." I picked up the papers on my coffee table. What were once pages of black and white parchment was now heavily highlighted in an assortment of colors. A grin grew as I reminisced about my work. "But—what do you want to know? Because I don't think it'll be what you want to hear".

"What makes ya' think that?"

"I know what you want to hear and I don't have that answer," he scoffed over the phone. "That and you always sigh when you're disappointed."

"Always a smart-ass, aren't ya' Liam?"

"Better to be a smartass than a dumbass." I checked my watch. It was getting closer to the time I had to leave. I looked out the window again, still curious about that scream. The park; still empty.

"I—I don't have too long to talk. Have to go to work. So, I'll give you a quick run-down, alright?"

"What? Why?" his voice turned serious, silence came from his end as he waited.

"What? Didn't you want to know what else I learned?"

"No. Why did you say you have to go to work?" Shit. I slipped up. He sounded really pissed. That's what I fucking hated about people. So keen on getting aggressive when they don't get what they want. "You haven't had a job for a few weeks."

"Well—don't get mad—but," I paused again, my thoughts were blank. Anxiety was raging.

"But?" he pressured me to continue, but my thinking persisted. It's not that I was afraid to ask, I was afraid to hear his answer. If you're a liar, I'm envious of you. You know who you are. From a little white lie to a whole scandal, I was incapable of doing either. Sure as hell pissed off many friends in the lifetime. When it came to causing trouble, but I feel telling the truth makes one's life more straightforward, except for moments like these. In retrospect, I believe if I could've lied sooner... fewer people would've died in the cabin.

"Professor Weber gave me—."

"Liam. Tell me you didn't".

"What? This is why I'm calling you. I need you to know, just in case something happens."

"Liam."

"The only honest way I could get into his room was to offer my services, and it turns out he needed them and—," I paused, and let out a sigh. "In short, he uh—well, offered me a contract. " A pause gripped the air. "And," I continued, "I accepted it yesterday, but-but don't freak out. Think of—". He cut me off. Went off at me.

I am trying to recollect what he said. The next few sentences, it escapes my mind. Escapes these pages. Escapes our reality. I think it was an argument. Perhaps an attempted persuasion? My mind is slowly fogging, and it's terrifying. This, and what's to come. I mean fuck. My keyboard is slippery, and my screen has smears of orange shit; it's incredibly frustrating and disgusting. Obscuring the writing. The words. The truth.

Mustn't give up, especially for you. I remember the part of the conversation of what the notes were about. Was near the end, it's not much, but it's something. Yeah, let's continue with that.

"You wouldn't believe what these notes say."

"What?" He sighed in defeat.

"Everything in these notes sounds like they come out of a science-fiction novel. I mean for starters, this—book they have, it's apparently reactive".

"Reactive?"

"Yeah, allegedly at least. It's alive and wants the team to finish writing it. Projecting voices onto some of the project members, feeding them information. Would explain why they talk to themselves. They must think it's talking to them.  I Will have to look for drugs when I—."

"Stop—."

"We can't learn more unless we look into it." I checked my watch. I really had to go. "Can't learn more about Lexi—"

"Unless you look into it? Just, please. Please don't go. Do it for me? Your my best friend and I don't want you to disappear like her," his voice shook. As much as his answer seemed rational, it felt incomplete. Like he was hiding something. I didn't have time to respond. Had to go. Had to decide... and—-regrettably, I did.

"I'll be fine. You know I can take care of myself."

"Liam! Stop being stupid!," he gave one more attempt, but I think he knew. I was beyond reasoning. Lustful for truth. Gluttonous for a prideful boast. A man taking on a cult who kidnapped a girl. At least, that's what I thought then.

"I-I got to go. I'll message you when I'm done." He didn't try to argue further, just silence, so I hung up on him, muted my phone, and put on my jacket. It hung next to my apartment window.

I looked outside at the park once more and froze. A woman was standing in the park... A familiar woman. One with a particular, frightening something. The student I saw the other day. Her something looked at me. In my home. It felt like it wanted—me.

I closed the blinds in terror. Felt for my revolver, searching for comfort, heart racing. The feeling resided the further I backed away from the window. I looked at the notes, "Impossible," I muttered to myself. That something is what the team called "Whispers." "Whispers" are a creature from the book that project knowledge into its host. The professor told me when I go to the first meeting I'd be—introduced to them.

Bull-shit, I thought then. I told myself it was my anxiety acting up.

I checked my watch. Had to leave now. Walked to the exit of my apartment and stopped, felt in my back pocket for my revolver again, and pulled it out, and flipped open the cylinder. Six bullets. Fear returned, and sweat began to run down my brow. A feeling of panic overcame me, but—from no recognizable source. I ran to my bedroom and pulled open the drawer in my nightstand. Pulled out the box of ammo, and grabbed a handful of specialty rounds. I unzipped my jacket pocket and poured them in.

Didn't care if it'd make noise. Didn't care if it was cumbersome. Didn't care if I was bringing a weapon onto school grounds. Something freaked me out then. I peeked through the blinds once more, the woman, gone. But not the fear. Oh no, my fellow friends. It stayed.

"Fuck it. Let's make history."

I looked at my watch and remembered James warning. I could've just called in and quit—but I had to know.

Let's go to this project about a supposed cult with supposed Whispers from a supposed book.

And—I did.